


his arms

by connorswhisk



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: M/M, just a short ficlet while we all freak out about the new movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 10:54:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20388541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/connorswhisk/pseuds/connorswhisk
Summary: Eddie hasn’t seen his friends in 27 years. He doesn’t even remember forgetting them, and now he’s back in Derry. He remembers his friends. He remembers the oath. He remembers the clown.But he also remembers Richie.





	his arms

It’s been 27 years since Eddie’s seen his friends, and the memories keep rushing back unexpectedly, hitting him with the full force of a semi. When he got the call from Mike, when he drove past the “Welcome to Derry” sign, when he stepped into The Jade of the Orient, the past had come back to him, each time leaving him speechless, head throbbing.

He’d forgotten his entire childhood, and he hadn’t even noticed that he had.

Eddie can’t sleep. The motel bed is uncomfortable, the A/C’s broken, and the curtains do little to shield his eyes from the glare of the neon sign out front.

But that isn’t why Eddie’s awake.

It’s the thoughts swirling around in his head, becoming sharper and clearer every second. Remembering the things he’d forgotten with harsh clarity: the rock war against Bowers and Huggins and Criss,

_(oh my)_

cleaning Beverly’s bloody bathroom, sitting in The Aladdin when Richie had spilled his soda, the leper and it’s disgusting, oozing face,

_(How about a blowjob, Eddie?)_

skin scraped down to the bone, Richie holding Eddie’s face

_(Look at me! Look at me!)_

to keep him from looking at the clown, Richie -

And tonight. Seeing Mike again. Seeing Bill, his best friend, seeing Ben and Bev and

and Richie.

Talking about the old days as the memories rushed back to them all at the same time, laughing about what stupid kids they’d been, telling each other how life was now.

And then -

And then they had stopped. Because they remembered the clown. And then there were the bad memories, the ones that made Eddie grasp for an inhaler that wasn’t there. Bad things started to happen then, the remembering and the disbelief and Bill’s stutter and the promise of an oath and the fortune cookies and the messages

_(guess)_

_(Stanley)_

and the overwhelming sense of _fear_ that had enveloped the entire room,

_(could)_

_(not)_

_(cut)_

_(it)_

turning everyone’s nerves to jelly. And then the things in the fortune cookies, the horrible horrible things, the bloody eye and the -

And Stan’s gone. Killed himself. Cut his wrists in the bathtub.

Eddie turns on his side. The clock reads 1:23 AM. He knows he isn’t falling asleep. Maybe he should talk to someone, seek out another one of the Losers and see if they’ll listen. He can’t go to Mike, since Mike is at his own home. Ben would be nice, but his room is all the way at the end of the hall and around the corner, and if Eddie goes that far, his chances of being too loud and disturbing someone’s sleep would go up a lot higher. He _wants_ to go to Bill, but if the looks he’d been shooting at Beverly at the dinner table all night are any indication, he’s probably not alone tonight, which rules out Bev as well. Maybe that’s good. They all could use a distraction.

Through process of elimination, the only person left is Richie. And he’s the closest to Eddie, too, right across the hall. It would be so simple to just knock on his door and wait for him to open it. It would be easy.

But maybe that’s what Eddie’s been trying to avoid all night. Because besides the constant banter at dinner, Eddie Kaspbrak hasn’t had a real, one-on-one conversation with Richie Tozier in...

27 years.

But the other thing can’t be forgotten. The other factor. The other variable. Because if Eddie sees Richie now, alone, after so long, he isn’t sure if he can hold everything in any longer. And if he tells Richie how he feels about him, how he’s felt about him

_(Bobby does it for a dime. He will do it any time. Fifteen cents for overtime.)_

since they were kids, he’d - he’d -

Well. Eddie wouldn’t be able to take that emotional toll.

No. He can’t go to Richie. Maybe he can risk sneaking down to Ben’s...

The clock reads 1:39 AM.

_Fuck it,_ Eddie thinks. He pulls the covers back, and before he even realizes what he’s doing, he’s standing in front of Richie’s door, fist raised.

It only takes a few seconds for Richie to answer, though they feel like an eternity to Eddie. He opens the door and he’s still in his clothes, making Eddie feel like a fool in his boxers and t-shirt. Richie’s eyes are dark and droopy through his glasses, like he’s been trying to sleep but just can’t. Eddie knows the feeling.

“Eds,” he says, blinking surprisedly at him. Eddie huffs.

“Don’t call me Eds,” he says, pushing past Richie and into his room. Richie’s leather jacket is draped over the chair, and his suitcase is open by the closet, but other than that and the slightly mussed sheets, the room has hardly been touched. Eddie lowers himself onto the edge of the bed and sits with his head in his hands.

“Can’t sleep?” Richie asks sympathetically, the door clicking shut behind him. Eddie shakes his head wordlessly. He feels the mattress dip next to him as Richie sits.

“Me neither,” Richie sighs.

“Fuck, Rich,” Eddie says. “What are we supposed to do?” He lifts his head and looks up at him, as if waiting for an answer. But how can you answer something like that? When everything is awful and nothing is definite.

Richie inhales. “I don’t know, Spaghetti-Head. I just don’t know.” And for once, Eddie doesn’t correct the nickname.

“I miss Stanley,” Eddie says suddenly, and regrets it immediately after. Richie rubs the side of his face, looking pained and sorrowful.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Me too.” And to Eddie’s horror, he suddenly just starts crying.

“_Fuck,_” Richie sobs. “He was my best friend. He was my best friend and I didn’t even remember him, and now he’s -“ He breaks off and Eddie wraps an arm around his shoulders automatically, doesn’t even have to think about it. He rubs Richie’s back gently, and the motion is so familiar to the both of them that they both freeze and look up at each other, hit with the force of yet another memory.

_The schoolyard...bullies...Richie, don’t...an ugly smirk, taunting...Get off, Eddie...cracking knuckles...Calm down, Rich...Breathe in - two, three, four - breathe out - two, three, four...Hey, four-eyes, you gonna fight or are you just gonna hang back with your boyfriend?_

“You used to do that whenever I was about to lose my cool with Bowers,” Richie mutters. Eddie nods slowly.

“Yeah,” he says, starting to rub again. “I remember, because your dumb ass couldn’t keep yourself calm.” Richie chuckles thickly, through snot and tears.

“God,” he says. “We were stupid kids.” Eddie laughs at that, softly, small.

“Yeah. We were.” They sit for a few minutes, letting the memory run its course. Eddie traces small circles on Richie’s back with the pads of his fingertips, and Richie sighs again, leaning slightly closer.

After a few more minutes, Richie lifts his glasses to wipe his face, and Eddie pulls his hand back from around his shoulders, but Richie catches it with his own and lays it on the sliver of bed between them, his hand covering Eddie’s protectively. Eddie stares blankly at them, blinking. Richie clears his throat.

“Stay with me?” Richie asks, voice a whisper. Eddie’s shoulders tense up.

“What, you mean like...stay the night in here?” he asks. Richie nods, squeezing Eddie’s hand.

“Please.”

And Eddie wants to say no, knows he _should_ say no, and should go back to his own room to be alone. And he almost says that, except he doesn’t.

“Ok,” he says instead. Because it’s always been yes when it comes to Richie.

Richie sets his glasses on the bedside table and starts to undress, so Eddie politely turns away, trying to ignore the fact that he’s blushing like a school boy. He sincerely hopes Richie can’t see anything in the dim lighting of the room.

Eddie ponders where he’s going to sleep. He supposes he could always grab some extra pillows from the closet, so he takes some out and starts spreading a blanket on the floor to the left side of the bed.

“What are you doing?” Richie asks, confusion obvious in his voice. Eddie looks up from where he’s crouched and frowns, though his stomach sort of jumps a little, because Richie is in nothing but his underwear.

“I’m just,” Eddie stammers. “I’m...I’ll sleep on the floor...” Richie shakes his head emphatically.

“Ah, you wound me, Eddie Spaghetti,” he says, splaying a hand across his chest theatrically. “You won’t even sleep with me!” (Eddie blanches a bit, because he didn’t know that that was what Richie was talking about) “What will I tell our children?”

Eddie scowls. “You’ll tell them nothing. Beep-Beep, Richie.” Richie grins, but Eddie can tell that it’s fake, and those tired and sad eyes reveal everything.

Eddie starts to go back to painstakingly smoothing the blanket’s creases, but stops again when he notices Richie’s still looking at him.

“Eds,” Richie says quietly, all traces of humor - genuine or not - gone from his voice. “I’m serious.”

Eddie stands slowly. Richie doesn’t _look_ like he’s kidding around.

“You,” Eddie begins. He licks his lips. “You want me to sleep in the bed? With you?” Richie nods.

“Only if you want to. Do you?” he asks, and that’s the million dollar question, isn’t it? Because if Eddie does this, he’s not sure of what will happen. He could say something stupid. And then Richie would...would just _hate_ him.

But -

If something happens when they’re down there fighting It, he wants to have something to hold on to. A nice moment before the inevitable final battle. So -

_(Bobby does it for a dime. He will do it any time. Fifteen cents for overt - )_

Eddie shoves the thought out of his head.

“I want to,” he says, and he’s serious, too.

Richie nods. Eddie leaves the blanket crumpled up on the floor and crawls underneath the covers of the bed. Richie reaches over and turns off the lamp before doing the same. They lie on their backs in the darkness, staring at the ceiling, a size-able distance between them.

Eddie’s nervous. He doesn’t think he’s ever been so nervous in his life.

Richie glances over, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth, something hardening in his eyes.

“Your ring,” he says. Eddie blinks and looks down. He’d been absentmindedly fidgeting with his wedding ring, twisting it around his finger. He’d forgotten to take it off, and the sight of it almost makes him recoil.

“Oh,” he says. Carefully, he pulls the ring off and sets it on the stand next to him. Then, he changes his mind and shoves it into the drawer, slamming the door shut. He doesn’t want to look at it right now.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

“What are you apologizing for?” Richie asks. “You love her.” His tone sounds oddly bitter.

“Yeah,” Eddie says reflexively. Then he turns on his side to face Richie. “Well, no. I _don’t._”

Richie turns to face him back. “What?”

Eddie bites his lip. “I don’t love her, Rich. I married Myra because she...she was like home. She reminded me of my mother, Rich, she practically _is_ my mother. Looks like her, too. I don’t - I _can’t_ \- God, I don’t know why I haven’t just fucking divorced her already.”

Richie stares at him. He opens his mouth. “Come home with me,” he gets out, all in a rush.

It’s Eddie’s turn to stare. “Come...?” Richie grimaces a little.

“Forget it,” he says. “Wasn’t thinking.”

“Wait, Richie,” Eddie says, almost desperately. “No, tell me.” Richie’s eyes flick up nervously, then back down to the bed, up, down, back, forth.

“I,” Richie says. “I just meant...well, I’ve got this big-ass house in Cali. And I live there alone. If - If you’re really serious about leaving Myra...you’ve got _options_, Eds.”

“Don’t call me Eds,” Eddie breathes. His heart’s racing a hell of a lot faster than normal.

“I’m sorry. I’m being an idiot,” Richie says. He won’t meet Eddie’s eyes anymore. “You can’t just leave your entire life behind. You’ve got a wife, and a job, and a house. Just. Forget I said anything, Eddie.” And he looks so dejected that Eddie can’t help the next words that come out of his mouth, though he would’ve said them anyway.

“Let’s do it.” Richie blinks.

“_What?_”

“Let’s go live together. In California,” Eddie says. And he means every word. Richie’s stare is kind of comical, all wide eyes and open mouth.

“But - your job,” Richie flounders. “Your house - “

“I can get a job in Cali. And Myra can have the house, I don’t care. I’ll just stay at your place until I’m steady enough to get my own,” Eddie says. His stomach is jumping at the mere prospect of all this.

He tries to ignore the fact that if he lives with Richie, his secret is practically _guaranteed_ to come out.

_(Bobby - )_

Richie flushes, and it looks so pretty, pink dusted across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, that Eddie feels this urge to kiss it.

“You - You wouldn’t have to stay at my house. If you didn’t want to. I could rent you a condo, or - or hell, I could probably _buy_ you a house with all the fuckin’ money I’ve got...” Richie trails off, and even though he’s stuttering as much as Bill, Eddie can see the smile in his eyes.

“I can stay with you,” Eddie says breathlessly. “I really don’t mind, Rich.” He swallows, and says hurriedly, “And I won’t have to move out if you don’t want me to. I-I’d like to stay. If you’ll have me.”

Richie looks at him, lips parted, for a solid five seconds. For one horrible moment, Eddie think he’s going to yell at him, or worse, laugh at him.

But Richie grins, a slow, wide grin spreading across his face. He laughs, and it’s a happy, wonderful laugh, and Eddie thinks he’s never heard a better sound in his entire life.

Richie does a thing then. He grabs Eddie by the cheeks and touches their foreheads together, still smiling brightly. Eddie feels his face heating up but he can’t bring himself to care, because he can’t really do anything right now. He’s completely frozen.

“Ok,” Richie says, shakily. He runs the pads of his thumbs over Eddie’s cheeks gently. “Ok. _God_, Eds. We’re really doing this, yeah?”

Eddie swallows, finally able to move again. “Yeah,” he says, smiling as well.

Richie laughs that beautiful laugh again, and before Eddie can react, or laugh back, or even blush, Richie swoops down and kisses him.

It’s short. Probably only lasts about two seconds. But Eddie’s nerve-endings are all on fire, and he feels like he’s dreaming, maybe. _Is_ he dreaming? He can’t tell.

They break apart, or more accurately, Richie does, because Eddie is too shocked to move. They stare into each other’s eyes for a few moments, Richie looking unsure and Eddie still trying to reboot his brain.

“Sorry,” Richie says. “If you don’t - “

“I’m in love with you,” Eddie blurts out. Richie’s mouth opens slightly.

“You’re - ?” Eddie nods emphatically.

“Yeah. Yeah. Yes. I’m in love with you, and I think I have been since - since - “ But he doesn’t know how to put it into words. Thankfully, he doesn’t have to.

“Me too,” Richie says. “I love you. God, Eds, I love you.”

“Don’t call me Eds,” Eddie says, but his stomach is doing somersaults and his heart is periodically stopping and starting. “Dickwad,” he adds as an afterthought. Richie grins toothily.

“Already thinking about my dick? Jesus, Eds, how thirsty are you? I mean, all you had to do was ask _nicely_ \- “

“Shut _up_, Richie,” Eddie says, rolling his eyes, and he smiles and pulls him in for another kiss. Richie laughs into it, and Eddie smiles, and then he smacks Richie playfully on the arm when he slips in a little tongue and it’s honestly the best moment of Eddie’s whole entire life. He doesn’t care about Myra. He doesn’t care about Derry. He doesn’t care about the _fucking clown._

And as Richie pulls him to his chest and rests his head on top of Eddie’s, Eddie knows that if he died in these arms, he’d die happy.

**Author's Note:**

> oh god we’ve only got like two weeks hhhhhh oh god oh fuck


End file.
